


From This Moment On

by the_queenmaker



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_queenmaker/pseuds/the_queenmaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom/sub AU; In which Leo is terrible with words and feelings, and then he finds someone who's okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From This Moment On

The door opens and the Dom walks in, slim and dark and slight of build. Taekwoon's heart sinks. 

 

The smaller ones never take kindly to his broad shoulders and blank expression--as though Taekwoon's very presence challenges them without him ever opening his mouth. Taekwoon knows this, and shrinks instinctively anyway, hates himself for this reaction, hates the natural order of things, that he has to endure this, that he craves it, that Wonshik can't let him return to work until he sorts himself out. 

 

The smaller Dom opens his mouth and--" _oh_ "--breathes out the word with reverence. Taekwoon's never heard that tone used on himself, and the sound of it gives him pause. The other blinks, laughs self-deprecatingly as scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry," he says bashfully. "You're very attractive." 

 

Taekwoon opens his mouth but no words come out. His first thought is that the quiet receptionist had made a mistake. "Are you sure you're in the right room?" he asks carefully. 

 

"Yeah, you're Leo right? I'm N. Sorry I'm late." He closes the door behind him, grinning cheerfully. "I got caught up with--oh wait, we're not supposed to talk about that are we?" Mutely, Taekwoon shakes his head. "Sorry," N says, sliding into the spot on the couch beside him. He's taller, but just barely. "I just think it's easier for both of us if we know something about each other, but this is okay too." 

 

And then he tilts Taekwoon's face up and slides their lips together. 

 

There's no 'proper' way to initiate a Meeting , especially one out of necessity's sake. He's had dominants who'd wanted to know too much about him and dominants who summarily reproached for not already being 'in position' (whatever that meant), but never quite one like this. It's an ordinary kiss, right up until the moment N slips a knee between Taekwoon's legs and curls his fingers into the short hairs at his nape, and then it's his entire world in that gentle moving kiss. Taekwoon can feel himself flushing red everywhere, his body prickling, and blushes harder for how easy it was. 

 

N drags his lips away and Taekwoon's eyes flutter before his gaze focuses through hooded lids. "Beautiful," N declares. The words have roughly the same effect on him as cold water, and Taekwoon shutters close, suddenly overcome with feelings of aversion to that word. N, to his relief (or is it chagrin?), doesn't address this, and instead begins tugging at the lapels of Taekwoon's bathrobe. "I want to see," he says, imploring despite the lack of a question mark. 

 

Taekwoon relents and permits N to tug the robe off of him. N's eyes devour him greedily and Taekwoon allows the scrutiny because N doesn't look at his abs or biceps with disdain or determination, no, he looks delighted. 

 

"I'm going to," N says, before unexpectedly dropping to his knees and closing his lips around the head of Taekwoon's cock. Taekwoon starts at the sudden motion, and a surprised little moan slips out as N opens his throat and lets more of Taekwoon in between his lips. His hands rest on the sides of N's head before he remembers himself, but then N sucks him wetly from root to tip and then Taekwoon's hands are flying back to his mouth, to muffle the even-louder cry that escapes him. N pulls off of him. "No, those are mine," he says conversationally, one hand dragging up and down the length of him. "Please don't keep them from me." 

 

It's the most flustered he's felt in a long time, his personality warring with his primal urge to please, but then N swirls his tongue around the tip and the sob that bursts out his chest is entirely involuntary. Meanwhile, N continues his ministrations, manages to methodically extracts an entire choir of sounds before stopping out of nowhere, an obscene noise as his lips pop off. Confused, Taekwoon rolls his head forward from where he'd been arched, eye blinking dazedly to the sight of N sitting back on his hands. 

 

"I want to see you touch yourself," N says, "the way you do when you're alone." 

 

The embarrassment returns in a flashflood and Taekwoon feels color rise in his cheeks. He averts his gaze and stares into nothing in particular, his cock still wet and hard from N's mouth. 

 

"Trust me," N says, and there's nothing in his painfully earnest expression to suggest intentional humiliation. Still, Taekwoon hesitates. "It'll be good, I promise." 

 

(It's the last part that gets him, in the end.) 

 

Breathing heavily, Taekwoon shuffles forward on the seat and lays back against the couch. N is still watching him closely, so Taekwoon closes his eyes, cheeks red, as he spreads his legs and takes a familiar hold. There's a moment when everything is still, and then Taekwoon exhales slowly as he starts moving, a light touch at first that sparks despite the familiarity of it, undoubtedly due to the presence of an audience. Thoughts race in his mind, whether he should race to the finish or put on a show, but in the end, he goes the natural route, long and firm pulls, thrusting a little, fingers racing everywhere from the crown down the length to the sensitive spot behind his balls. 

 

He can't see N, can't gauge N's reaction, but this has been the strangest Meeting in his life. There's little else to lose by being honest, he feels, so he flicks his wrists and drags his nails lightly and his thrusts get higher and higher as the pleasure of it all washes over him in mounting waves--

 

"Stop," N suddenly commands. 

 

Taekwoon's eyes fly open and he freezes, cock still pulsing hotly in his hand. N is watching. Gauging. 

 

"Okay," N nods. "Continue." 

 

Taekwoon lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. So that was the game. He resumes. 

 

"Stop," N says again ten minutes later, when Taekwoon has one fingers pressed against the sweet spot on his perineum as the other thumbs his slit. 

 

Taekwoon's balls are tight and he has to close his hands into fists as he rips them away from himself, gasping like he's ran a marathon. He ventures a look at N through teary eyes, and almost regrets it because N's focus is entirely on him, sharp interested eyes and Taekwoon feels an entire body blush under the scrutiny. He thinks he might have imagined it, the catch in N's voice when he speaks again. 

 

"Go" 

 

This time, N doesn't stop him. It's the longest drag Taekwoon has ever experienced, between him trying to put off the inevitable end and simultaneously racing towards it, he holds off, waits and waits, but N doesn't say a word, not until Taekwoon feels his control slipping, feels the tingling at the base of his spine and the tips of his toes, feels the overwhelming pressure in his loins, precome leaking out in thick droplets; but the moment he arches into it, the moment he starts to let go--

 

" _Stop_." 

 

He almost doesn't want to, almost can't help himself. A high, whimpering mewl claws its way out his throat as his hands scramble uselessly for hold on the leather couch. For a moment, he thinks he's gone to far, panics. And then, like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff by his finger nails, miraculously, he pulls himself back, shaking and shivering. There are stars swimming in his eyes and he feels completely destroyed and there are tear tracks on his cheek. 

 

"Oh my god." And N's hands are on his chest, his arms, his thighs, everywhere, warm and full of worship. Taekwoon follows it blindly like a touch-starved kitten. "Oh my god, good Leo," N says, kissing him on his lips and his forehead and the tops of his cheekbones and then his lips again. "Sweet boy, beautiful boy, you were _amazing_ , and I'm so proud of you." 

 

Taekwoon's chest tightens at the praise and he hurries to quash the sob that threatens to bubble into existence. He's not thinking straight, still aroused and hazy from all the attention N was lavishing on him, but he can't help the sudden, almost violent hatred he held for the name he'd chosen on a whim. N should be crooning his real name instead. Such thinking went against the entire logic of holding a Meeting in the first place, and he'd never felt this way before. He feels ecstatic. He feels wretched. 

 

N's fingers work into him, two at once, and Taekwoon lets out a strangled gasp. His feet jerk out, kicking into nothing at all. "Hold still," N says. Taekwoon struggles to obey even as N's fingers tease lovingly inside him. Soon his fingers are replaced and then--

 

"Please." He almost doesn't recognize his own voice, all choked and heady. His hands grip tight against N's wrist, and it's all he can do to stop himself from flinging his arms around N's neck or trying to pull his legs apart so N can fuck him, so N will know how much he wants it, how much he burns for it. The carefully crafted self-control he prides himself on is in shreds and he wants everything, for as long as he still can. 

 

"Oh, sweetheart," N says breathlessly. He lowers his head, touches their lips together, and then starts in on him at a monstrous, animalistic pace that makes the couch bang loudly against the wall. Taekwoon screams rhythmically into the kiss again and again to the tune of N's hips. It's an eternity in a moment that's over all too soon. Taekwoon is hovering up in subspace when he hears N's voice, clear as a bell. "Come for me," N says. "Right now, come for me, you beautiful boy," 

 

Taekwoon obeys, and remembers nothing else.

//

N looks smaller in his street clothes. No, smaller isn't the right word. He looks entirely ordinary, and for what he knows, N is the opposite of ordinary. Of course, now he'd have to forget that.

 

"I probably shouldn't have waited for you," N says, almost nervously. "If that makes you uncomfortable..." 

 

"It's fine," Taekwoon interrupts. 

 

N laughs a little, a sound that dies quickly. They were standing outside the front door of the hotel. This is the moment where they say goodbye and become memories to each other. Taekwoon doesn't want to go, doesn't want N to go, but doesn't know what to say to make him stay. 

 

"It was..." N starts, and then stops. He shakes his head, like he's upset with himself. "That's not what I meant to say." 

 

Taekwoon waits. N fidgets. 

 

"What I really wanted to tell you," he says at last, "is that I do actually think you're very beautiful." 

 

He kisses Taekwoon on the corner of his lips, sweet and chaste. 

 

 _My name is Jung Taekwoon._ The words sit on his tongue and his heart like lead, long after N has disappeared from sight.

//

His mood swings get worse. In public, he's snappier and more irritable than ever, but the moment he goes home to an empty apartment, he feels as though the hole in his chest will widen and devour him from the inside out.

 

"You're supposed to be better after you come back," Wonshik gripes after Taekwoon quietly and sharply reduces a particularly incompetent student intern to tears. He doesn't quite manage the worry from bleeding into his voice, and when he finally pulls Taekwoon aside, his voice is unexpectedly (and, Taekwoon finds, annoyingly) gentle. "Do you need more time off?" 

 

"No," Taekwoon replies, clipped. 

 

"I really think you do," Wonshik says pointedly. Taekwoon's stomach bottoms out. "Nothing that drastic," Wonshik adds hastily, holding one hand up appealingly. "Just...take the rest of the week off and sort out whatever it is you need to sort out, okay?"

 

Taekwoon knows it's unusual for him to hold a sales position at all, given his status and personality. He knows all the prejudices (indeed, he's used many of them to his advantage), but it stings this much more because Wonshik had always been _so good_ about looking past them. He opens his mouth, to launch a last-ditch effort. 

 

"You're acting like someone who's been jilted," Wonshik says quietly. "Take some time, Taekwoon-ah." 

 

The words stop him in his tracks and Taekwoon feels an involuntary heat rise, feels his ears flush red from embarrassment or shame or more likely a combination of both. He hadn't been--a Meeting was a Meeting--but even if he never puts words to it, he knows in his heart what he feels, and if it had come out in his actions...

 

He wonders who else has noticed. 

 

"Fine," he spits out, rising to his feet, furious with Wonshik but more furious with himself. The office that had previously been so preferable to his clean, silent apartment is suddenly too unbearable to remain in for one second longer. 

 

(He hadn't been rejected, he knows it in his mind. Now if only the rest of him would _listen_.)

//

He means to go home, however unsavory the thought. Instead, his feet carry him back to the hotel where he'd met N. Taekwoon makes it all the way through the front door before the sight of the same quiet receptionist registers and he remembers that he has no idea what he's doing here and no easy way to just walk back out the door.

 

"Oh, hello," the receptionist says mildly, setting his book aside. "Do you have another appointment?" 

 

"Yes," Taekwoon says immediately and then shakes himself. "No, I don't. I was just wondering if you had any contact information on my partner from last time. He went by the alias 'N'." 

 

The receptionist--his nametag reads Han Sanghyuk--stares at him considering. "We don't normally give those out," he says at last. Despair grips the pit of Taekwoon's stomach. "Luckily for you," Sanghyuk continues, reaching for the rolodex and circling through its contents, "N is amendable to the idea." 

 

He hands over an index card with a phone number, a work address, and a large letter "N" scribbled on top. The handwriting is atrocious. N must've written it himself. Taekwoon's breath catches. He hadn't thought it'd be so easy. "Are you sure?" 

 

"This place is family owned," Sanghyuk says, a smile ghosting over his face. "Sometimes Meetings turn into something more." 

 

(Later, Taekwoon will find out that Sanghyuk and N are childhood friends, and that N had been over at least twice--"five times" Sanghyuk insists--since their Meeting to inquire if 'Leo' had ever come back. Right now, he can only stumble out the front door, breathless with his good fortune.)

//

It occurs to him too late that the most logical thing would be to try the phone number rather than the address, but then again, Taekwoon is useless on a phone line and, under these circumstances, sending a text seems...disingenuous somehow. The enormity of the whole situation doesn't strike him until Taekwoon is standing in front of a white-granite apartment complex--N's home, N lives here--and realizes that he has no idea how to approach this.

 

Taekwoon assesses carefully how he would feel if N had shown up his front door unannounced and then quickly discontinues the thought, because he would have been ecstatic and he shouldn't be projecting. After that he goes through a startling number of increasingly ludicrous scenarios involving carrier pigeons and smoke signals before he finally plops himself down on the stone bench beside the gate and pulls out his mobile. 

 

His is one of those fancy five-inch touchscreen phones that stretch out his back pocket. It's also a bit too much for someone who barely has enough regular contacts to fill up the single digits of his speed dial, but he'd wanted it originally because of its lightness. At that moment, Taekwoon feels as though he were holding a brick. 

 

Taekwoon punches in the number written on the index card and then his thumb hovers over the green call button, hovers until the screen dims and goes black. His heart is thudding unsteadily in his chest, and it's all he can hear. Sanghyuk had said that N was amendable. Wonshik had called him jilted. N had called him beautiful, but before N, he'd been everything from strange, to obstinate, to wrong. And before him...N must've had a 'before him'. 

 

It's entirely too easy to wander into the territory of unpleasant thoughts, so Taekwoon drifts just above the surface of it all, wondering if he should talk himself out of it, wondering if he could live with himself if he talked himself out of it. He's still staring forlornly at his cell phone when he hears someone clear their throat. 

 

It's N. 

 

_It's N._

 

Taekwoon jumps to his feet, feels his entire body go red. N is in casual wear--t-shirt and jeans--carrying takeout, and there's a light sheen on his face from the summer heat. He looks perfect. 

 

" I thought that was you," N says, an easy grin lighting up his face. "What are you doing here?" 

 

"I..." Taekwoon stops himself, clears his throat, and starts again, willing his voice to remain steady. "I was looking for you." The sunny smile fades into something a little softer and N takes a step forward, and then another. 

 

"Well, here I am." N says, stopping at arm's length. There's a part of Taekwoon that flares wretchedly, that wants N to just--take him, claim him, order him to his side and remove that burden of responsibility already. Later on, there'll be another part of Taekwoon that will understand (and appreciate) why he didn't. Right now, Taekwoon is trying to find words that convey the frantic racing of his pulse and coming up short--salesman, indeed. When he says nothing, N tilts his head to one side. "Leo?" 

 

The usage of the fake name he'd given the front desk wakes him. "My name is Jung Taekwoon," he says. N's eyebrows lift into his bangs and his smile widens. 

 

"Hello, Jung Taekwoon," N says. "I'm Cha Hakyeon." 

 

 _He has a name._ Taekwoon can't stop himself from smiling, can't stop himself from trying to stop himself smiling, but then N--Cha Hakyeon--laughs, so he probably sees it too. It fades away when Taekwoon's fingers find his hip and tug him close so he can rest his chin against Cha Hakyeon's shoulder and circle his arms around Cha Hakyeon's waist, but it's not until he feels Cha Hakyeon's arms around his backside and Cha Hakyeon's fingers curling around the nape of his neck that Taekwoon finally breathes again.

//

They do eventually make it inside. Hakyeon's apartment is clean and simple, like Taekwoon's, but with a lived-in feel that Taekwoon's never quite mastered. That's as much as he notices before Hakyeon pushes him into the couch and rolls on top of him.

 

"Nothing life changing today," Hakyeon says immediately, his thumb and forefinger massaging the spot behind Taekwoon's ear, drawing surprised kittenish noises out his throat. Taekwoon might've been more offended if he couldn't hear the smile in Hakyeon's voice. "You're clearly not thinking straight." 

 

"I'm thinking straight enough," Taekwoon grumbles when Hakyeon's pause for one blessed (cursed) second. He's not though, not even a little bit. Hakyeon laughs, but doesn't try to correct him. Instead, his hands slip under Taekwoon's shirt and drags across his stomach and his sides until Taekwoon is whining and pink in the face. 

 

"We'll have time," Hakyeon promises.

//

He takes the rest of the week off, and an additional week after that.

 

Hakyeon is a lot louder and a lot more annoying than first impressions had led him to believe. 

 

Taekwoon doesn't mind.

[ the end ]


End file.
